Proverbs 15:18 was, you swept right on with whatever you wished to do. Oh yes, Proverbs 15:18 rules the Altar Guild to this day:
“And”—I tried not to sound smug—“if anyone looked it up, she certainly wanted to be considered equable, not hotheaded.”
We looked at each other and laughed, laughter based on mutual experience and understanding.
Susan’s laughter stopped. She was abruptly somber. She glanced at the still form on the bed and flung out a hand. “All right, I’m dead. And I’m here. What do I do now?”
“You want to make provision for Keith. Well, that’s easy. Write out a will.” I glanced toward a rolltop desk in one corner. “You’ll need paper and a pen and an envelope.”
Susan’s eyes gleamed. “Of course. That’s all I need to do. A holographic will. Keith will be taken care of.” Susan whirled and walked briskly to the worn oak desk. She pushed up the lid and settled in the wooden chair. She found notepaper embossed with her initials and began to write, her face furrowed in thought. Occasionally she paused, scratched out a sentence, began again. Finally, she nodded in satisfaction. She handed me the sheet. “What do you think?”
I scanned the document, one page front and back. “Clear as can be.” Susan’s first concern had been a guardian for Keith. She instructed the court to ask Peg Flynn to serve. If Peg could not do so, Jane Ramsey was named. “I’m sure Peg will want to take care of him, but it’s good to have an alternative.” The major portion of the estate was left to Keith. Susan also made specific lump-sum bequests of two hundred thousand dollars to each of the previous heirs—Jake Flynn, Peg Flynn, Gina Satterlee, Tucker Satterlee, and Harrison Hammond—and ten thousand each to the cook and yardman.
I looked at Susan with approval. “Those are generous bequests for the previous heirs.”
Susan’s expression was rueful. “I hope they agree. They thought they would share in a much greater inheritance.” Susan glanced toward the door.
I wondered if she was remembering Jake’s awkward appearance in the doorway that morning.
Susan addressed an envelope to Wade Farrell.
As she added a stamp, I held out my hand. “I’ll mail it for you.” Late at night, I should have no difficulty carrying a truly airborne letter. Or I might remain visible and enjoy a crisp winter night walk. “Is the post office still at Cherokee and Chouteau?”
“Yes. But I haven’t signed the will yet. I want my signature witnessed.” Her glance at me was cool and intelligent. “A holographic will doesn’t need a witness, but I want one.” She carefully folded the sheet, slipped it into the envelope.
I looked at her in surprise.
Her smile was quick. “Tom was a lawyer. Wills and trusts and probate.” She gestured toward the bed. “I’ll be found in the morning. I want someone to be able to say they saw the will—and me—tonight and watched me sign it. I need someone I trust, someone who knows me well.” She ran an impatient hand through her hair. “Jane Ramsey is spending Christmas in London with her daughter’s family. Let me think…Missy Burnett has been sick and she would be too shocked to see me. I haven’t left the house much this past year. There has to be someone.” She stood and paced back and forth, murmuring names, each followed by a shake of her head.
“Someone who works for you?”
Susan’s eyes widened. She swung toward me. “Of course. Leon! He doesn’t work for us any longer, but he was foreman of the ranch for many years. He was one of the few people Mitch tried to please.” Her smile was a mixture of pride and regret. “Mitch was a handful, but he loved the ranch. Leon never had children and he treated Mitch like his son. After Mitch left, Leon kept everything going but I felt the joy had gone out of Burnt Creek for him. When Tucker finished school and took over at the ranch, Leon quit. But he’s been good to come every year to get the Christmas tree in place and put up the scaffolding. I talked to him this afternoon. I told him I hoped Keith would love Burnt Creek the way Mitch did. Leon will help me.” She started toward the hall door.
Under no circumstances did we want anyone in the household to awaken until we returned. I held out a restraining hand. “Let’s disappear.” I did.
Susan looked a trifle panicked. “Where’d you go?”
I gave her a reassuring pat on her shoulder. “I’m here.”
She jumped. “How do you do that?”
I tried to remember exactly what I did to disappear. “Think: Gone.”
“Gone,” she muttered. She faded away. “Oh, what fun.”
“Think: Here.”
“Here.” She swirled into being. “Gone.” She went.
I pushed away all thought of Precept Two. “Very good. Now, think where we want to go and we’ll be there. I need to know more than Leon’s house. What’s his last name?” I could immediately go from here to anywhere but I needed a specific location. Main and Cherokee. Perkins Drugstore downtown.
“Butler.”
“Good. Think Leon Butler’s house and there we’ll be. Since you are carrying the letter, we’ll zoom rather than pop from here to there.” Material objects had to travel through space in real time.
She shook her head. “Leon lives out in the country. He never misses anything. He’d know he hadn’t heard a car, and how would we explain showing up on his front porch? We have to drive.” She frowned. “I haven’t driven in a long time. Can you drive?”
If Susan had thought, she would have realized that driving a car was much farther distant in my past. However, I always enjoyed driving. How much fun to be behind the wheel again. “Of course.” I supposed it was like a bicycle. I might wobble a bit at first, but how different could it be?
“I’ll get the keys.” Susan’s voice was eager with no trace of worry or concern. “We’ll take Jake’s car. Her purse will be on the hall table downstairs.”
